by Karina Bliss
His Italian tie suddenly felt too tight. “We’ll find another way,” he said, loosening it.
“There isn’t another way.” For the first time she sounded impatient. “If I lose the buyer I won’t have the money to upgrade Heaven Sent. Without the upgrade I’ll miss this sports-fishing season. I’ve given up my job—”
“You’ve already quit your job?” Claire was marketing manager for a boutique hotel in Whangarei. She was diving into a risky prospect without a lifeline.
But she was looking past him with an expression that told him exactly who was behind him. His boss had a shark’s instinct for drama. Nate turned. Pushing forty, Zander Freedman looked ten years younger, only partly through good genes.
His famous face was tanned and taut under his shoulder-length blond hair. His silk T-shirt had been custom made to cling to the body he worked out religiously to maintain.
“Claire, this is—”
“I know who he is.” Smiling warmly, Claire held out her hand, and Nate sensed Zander’s interest. Great, just great. “I’m Claire Langford from New Zealand, an old friend of Nate’s. I have to apologize for crashing your party, but I wanted to surprise him.”
Nate narrowed his eyes, instantly suspicious. She’d known he’d have made excuses if she’d given him warning.
“Langford?” Zander’s forehead wrinkled as much as the Botox would allow. “Nate, isn’t that the name of an army buddy from the ambush?” The rocker was a military-history nut and Nate’s Special Forces background, specifically the heroism award at the end of his career, had cinched this job.
“My husband, Steve, was one of the two men who died,” Claire answered.
“Shit,” Zander said. “Then you’ll need a drink.” Claire blinked and he added, “It works a whole lot better than sympathy.”
For all his skewed worldview, the rocker got some things right.
She smiled. “Thank you, I do want to move on.” Her gaze returned to Nate’s. “Which is why I’m here.”
“Then let’s toast to new beginnings.” Zander snapped his fingers and a waiter materialized with a tray. A crystal tumbler of Grey Goose stood out from the tall flutes of Krug, the champagne’s straw-colored bubbles sparkling in the sun’s last blaze before sunset. Zander dumped his empty tumbler and picked up the full one. Then handing Claire a flute, he gestured for Nate to take a glass. “C’mon, buddy, break your bodyguard code for once, hey? This is a special occasion.”
Grimly, Nate accepted a drink, hoping Claire didn’t read this as a concession. They all chinked glasses. “You know my brother, Devin, married a New Zealander,” Zander told Claire. “A librarian who can give you a paper cut just by looking at you. All you Kiwi chicks that tough?” He chuckled because she looked as fragile as bone china.
Until you noticed her eyes—Viking blue. Lowering her lashes, she inquired politely, “Is your brother rejoining Rage?” The rocker paused midswig. He was accustomed to everyone knowing everything about him. “I’ve been out of circulation,” Claire added, obviously realizing her mistake.
“Oh, sure.” Zander grew magnanimous. “Let me bring you up to date with what I’ve been doing.” As he expanded on his favorite subject, Nate watched Claire. When had she gotten Hollywood thin? And her smile was overcast with a fatigue that went beyond jet lag. He drained his champagne.
“How’s Lewis?” he asked abruptly, interrupting Zander midflow.
“He’s become a troublemaker,” she said.
“Excellent.” Zander glanced between them. “Now, who the hell is Lewis?”
“My thirteen-year-old son.”
“I lost my virginity at thirteen.” Zander savored his vodka. “She was seventeen, worked at Dairy Queen, which was pretty apt, because she was stacked. The sex was all over in seconds, of course.” He grinned at Claire. “I’ve improved since then.”
She laughed.
Nate frowned. Even married women weren’t safe around Zander. Widows. She was widowed. His earpiece crackled into life. “Nate, got some trouble quadrant four,” Luther rumbled. “I’ve sent Andrew to cover Zander.”
“I’ll be right there. I’m wanted,” he said to Claire. “Let’s organize a driver to take you to my house.”
“No hurry.” Zander put an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll look after her.”
Nate hesitated. Telling the rocker to behave would only make him act more outrageously. He nodded to Claire. “I won’t be long.” Then he strode over to the far corner of the deck where Luther towered over the skinny self-proclaimed successor to Eminem.
JT Trigga held a joint in one hand and his date’s booty in the other. Behind them, the rapper’s bodyguards—all tatts, glares and bling—jostled like linebackers. “If you give it to me, sir,” Luther was saying in his deep, calm voice, “I’ll dispose of it for you.”
“Yeah, I bet you will.” JT Trigga blew a smoke ring in Luther’s face. “Chill, cuz, it’s only Mary Jane.” He spotted Nate. “Tell your boy, here, to turn a blind eye.”
“We can’t do that today, JT.” Nate summoned a regretful look. “Not in public. I’m sorry.” Before the rapper could argue, he flicked the joint out of the man’s fingers and ground it out under the heel of his shoe.
“This ain’t no party,” JT complained. “It’s a suck-up to the press…. Zee’s sellin’ out. Where is he…? I’m gonna tell him.”
This son of a bitch wasn’t going anywhere near Claire. Nate glanced at the rapper’s bodyguards, all thugs, not an ounce of professionalism amongst them and probably carrying more metal than they were licensed for. And the girlfriend was clearly underage. “Zander’s tied up right now,” he said smoothly, “but he asked me to introduce you to Vince Rutledge.” Ruthlessly, he sacrificed the renowned music journalist from Rolling Stone.
JT brightened. He had a new album pending. “Yeah?”
“Except your entourage will have to stay here. We don’t want to crowd him. Your daughter, too.”
“My what?”
Nate returned a blank look. “Not your daughter?” He hesitated. “Okay, maybe we’ll tee up another time. You know how Zander feels about jailbait.”
The rapper stiffened, and inwardly Nate cursed his slipup. Claire’s presence had unsettled him. He winked. “He’ll be jealous.”
JT relaxed. “Give her cab money,” he said to his boys.
The teenager started to complain, but Luther took her by the arm. “Let me organize that for you, ma’am.”
“You boys relax, enjoy yourselves,” Nate suggested to the entourage. He and Luther had rescuing underage damsels down to a fine art. “We’ll cover your boss…. Follow me, JT.”
He foisted the rapper onto a reluctant Vince, then organized a ride for Claire and went to fetch her. He needed time to come up with a fix that would get him off the hook. He’d do anything for her—except go home.
She and Zander were standing where he’d left them, blond heads close, talking intently. To his astonishment, as he closed the gap, Claire reached up and gave the rocker a hug. Never a man to miss an opportunity, Zander enthusiastically returned the embrace, his hands creeping down her back to rest on the upper curve of her bottom. Nate’s fist curled involuntarily. If Steve were here…
But Steve wasn’t here.
Zander caught Nate glaring at him and offered his irrepressible grin, the one that charmed him out of trouble with men and women alike. Nate scowled. Not this time, mate. His employer’s grin broadened, but he released Claire. When she saw Nate, a curious mix of anger and apology crossed her face.
His survival instincts kicked in. “What’s going on?”
“Zee.” Dimity, Zander’s personal assistant, teetered over on heels so high she had to take tiny steps. “We need you for photographs with the new band members.”
“I’ll be right there.” Zander drained his glass. “Goodbye, Claire, next time I’m visiting my mom and brother you can take me fishing.”
“It’s a date,” she said.
“Then w
e’ll definitely leave your chaperone ashore,” said Zander, kissing Claire’s cheeks in the French style. As he left with his PA, Nate gestured Andrew to follow.
“Chaperone?” Claire asked.
“Don’t worry about it…. I’ve organized you a ride to my condo.”
“I should tell you something first.”
“Later,” he said. “When I’m off duty. I can’t look after you and do my job.” Dusk was falling, along with inhibitions, as alcohol took effect on the guests. And the civility of this crowd was tenuous at best.
She hesitated. “Of course.” They walked through the crowd. A young woman had stripped to her bra and thong and was frolicking in the pool in front of a geriatric rocker. He had his hand in the halter of his young date’s top. Shocked, Claire glanced at Nate.
“Think of it as a bazaar,” he advised. “Everyone here wants something—sex, money, fame, contracts.”
She shook her head. “That doesn’t make him less of a creep.”
“The exploitation is mutual,” he said dryly. “You think she wants him for his looks?”
“Hey, Nathan!” An old girlfriend of Zander’s caught him by the lapels. She was drunk, swaying on her stilettos. “Has Zee replaced me yet?” Stormy asked in her sex-kitten voice.
He steadied her, smiling his reassurance. “You know you’re one of a kind.” She’d really loved the son of a bitch and Nate knew firsthand she had taken the breakup badly. He’d been there when Zander dumped her. Sometimes he hated his fucking job.
She dropped his arm for that of Zander’s English tour manager, Bill, who looked as if he couldn’t believe his luck. “We need some privacy, mate. Where can we go?”
“The top floor of suites has been reserved for guests.”
“Yeah, but is it guarded?” Bill pressed a nostril on his beaky nose closed and feigned a snort, too drunk to be cautious. Stormy laughed.
“You’ll be given a warning,” Nate said evenly. He could feel Claire’s gaze on him.
But she didn’t say anything until they were in the elevator heading down to the lobby. “They’re doing coke,” she said. “And you’re okay with that?”
“If they’re consenting adults, my policy is hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil…and think of the dollar bills.”
A frown creased her brow. She searched his face. The Nate she was looking for didn’t exist anymore.
The elevator doors opened and he ushered her into the bustling lobby and then out to the courtyard where a limo waited.
“Do you like your job?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Twelve hundred a day. What’s not to like?” Handing her his house key, Nate opened the limo door. She didn’t get in.
“You won’t do another runner on me, will you?” When he’d left New Zealand, he hadn’t said goodbye.
“Where else would I go?” he tried to keep the sharpness out of his voice.
“Promise me, Nate.”
He gave a curt nod. Still, she hesitated. “Just remember,” she said, “I’m not here to make your life harder. Only to make mine easier.”
Nate nodded again, fighting the guilt kindled by her appeal. “Go back to my place, catch some sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.”
“I’ll wait up.”
His mouth tightened. “Fine…but I’ll be late.”
“It’s good to see you, Nate.” She smiled wryly. “Even if you can’t say the same.”
The door clicked shut, the limo drove away and he could breathe again. Think again, without the pressure of those clear blue eyes on him. There was a flight to New Zealand tomorrow night. He’d make sure she was on it.
On the rooftop, he relieved Andrew and sent him to keep an eye on JT’s entourage. Surrounded by TV cameras, Zander was putting on his gloves in preparation for his big gesture—smashing the guitar ice sculpture to signal the official launch of his tour. He gestured Nate over.
“I told the gorgeous widow she could have you for three days,” he said. “You can thank me by getting rid of JT. That prick’s really starting to annoy me.”
Chapter Three
Nate didn’t have much in his fridge. Starving, Claire surveyed the contents. Long-life milk. A cantaloupe. One block of cream cheese. Greek yogurt. Each sitting on its own shelf. She checked the freezer. A packet of bagels. He must eat breakfast here and nothing else.
When in Rome. She cubed the cantaloupe and added it to the muesli she’d discovered in the pantry, eschewing the milk in favor of yogurt. She’d been too nervous about seeing Nate to eat on the plane. Or at the party.
Thinking about their encounter, she nearly let her appetite desert her again. But she was determined to regain the weight she’d lost after Steve’s death, so she found a spoon in one of the many empty drawers in the kitchen.
The only thing this house had plenty of was space.
Her footsteps echoed across the flagstone floor as she took her bowl of muesli into the dining room where an eight-seater dining table sat in solitary splendor. Heavy drapes of a hideous salmon pink clashed with the golden wood. The place was obviously a rental, because it held no personal touches at all.
Claire put her bowl on the table, picked it up again. She didn’t want to eat here, or in the living room that had a river-rock fireplace that Fred and Wilma Flintstone could have broiled a brontosaurus in, one enormous couch, a slab of coffee table and a high-tech entertainment system. The only place in this mausoleum that looked lived in was Nate’s office.
She’d found her lawyer’s unopened envelopes there.
On impulse she opened the French doors leading off the kitchen and took her breakfast onto the patio that overlooked the canal. The balmy air carried a sea breeze from Venice Beach, one block north, which simultaneously made her homesick and reminded her why she was doing this. For a new start.
As she ate, Claire worried about Nate. He’d looked so different, impeccably groomed, clean shaven, expensive haircut. For a moment when he’d recognized her, she’d thought with relief, Ross and Dan were wrong. He hadn’t changed.
He was still Nate, loyal and caring, who valued people above everything. Nate, who always remembered birthdays and Christmas and organized get-togethers because as he’d once told her, he was replacing every bad memory of his foster childhood with a good one.
The muesli caught in her throat. Putting down the spoon, she stared out across the canal, to the brightly lit houses. Their refracted light on the black water made it glisten like oil. How many good memories did it take to cancel out having one of his best friends dying in his arms?
She’d been so sure he’d open up to her. She knew how to be sensitive, unlike Ross and Dan, who’d told him bluntly that it was time to reengage with the people who cared about him. Though equally frustrated and hurt by Nate’s withdrawal, Claire empathized with his need to distance himself from well-meaning friends and relatives. Hell, she understood it.
Except, as soon as the shock wore off, he’d become remote, cynical, jaded…at home in a world he once would have laughed at, condoning behavior he once would have scorned. She’d never seen a man so disconnected from his old self.
That’s when she knew even an emotional appeal wouldn’t work.
So she’d gone out of her way to be understanding and conciliatory. And he’d lied to her. Outright lied to her. Claire pushed the bowl away. Zander had told her they weren’t flying out for another couple weeks.
Anger rose in her and she quashed it, the way she’d quashed other emotions over the last eighteen months. Because they didn’t serve her. She’d learned that when Steve died. It didn’t matter how much you wept or raged or begged God for things to be different. You couldn’t change reality. So you had to work with it. Her son and Steve’s mother needed her to be strong. She needed to see herself as strong.
Claire pressed the light button on her wrist-watch: 1:00 a.m. She’d wait up all night if necessary. However reluctant he was to see her, Nate wouldn’t break his promise. She might not be able to
rewrite the past, but she would direct her future.
Taking her half-eaten meal to the counter, Claire did a mental time-zone conversion, then retrieved her cell from her tote bag and dialed a New Zealand number. Along with Nate, Lee and Ross, Dan had been her husband’s troop-mate in the SAS, but he hadn’t been in the convoy during the ambush. It had taken him a long time to come to terms with that.
He was also Steve’s cousin. As a kid, Steve had spent most school holidays at the Jansens’ family farm, and Lewis, who wasn’t happy about moving, had recently expressed a desire to do the same.
For the next two weeks he was staying with Dan and his wife, Jo, while Claire made the Stingray Bay beach house more suited to permanent residency and got the boat renovations under way. She and her son could both do with the break.
“Lewis is in bed,” Dan said after they’d exchanged greetings.
“Did I get the time wrong? I thought it was only 9:00 p.m. there.”
He laughed. “I worked him into the ground…poor kid. We’re docking lambs.”
“I hope he’s not giving you any trouble.” Because he’s been giving his mother a lot of trouble lately, she thought wryly.
“Occasional moments of teen angst, but we’re ignoring them. Is our other boy giving you trouble?” Claire had asked Dan to keep her flying visit to L.A. a secret from Lewis because she didn’t want to get her son’s hopes up. Nate had dashed them enough times already.
“I’ll get back to you. Currently I’m cautiously optimistic.” With Zander in her corner, surely Nate had run out of excuses. A phone started ringing somewhere. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Give Lewis my love and tell him I’ll phone tomorrow.”
She reached the hall after the answering service had kicked in. “Hi, Nate, it’s Marcie. Left a message on your cell too, but just to confirm…Roberta doesn’t need an escort to court tomorrow. Her husband’s back in jail. On an unrelated charge, thank God. Talk soon. Bye.”
Claire stared at the phone. Did all her old friend’s associates break the law?